Opening up Rogers' box was surprisingly difficult. The metal clasps were finicky, and even after he managed to figure them out, the box still refused to open. There was some magic at play here, and it took him an embarrassingly long time to figure out what he needed to do. The moment Arthur’s ether touched the magic, the box sprang open, something he probably should have tried first instead of spending three minutes trying to get his nails between the microscopic seam. Arthur stood up from his chair and peered into the box. The metal limb within looked like something taken straight out of a sci-fi movie, steel forged so finely it looked like someone had transmuted muscle into metal. The prosthetic gleamed a dull bronze, and all the connecting components hanging at the end of it were tipped with green crystal. The limb was also far too large for someone of Arthur’s size, which was to be expected. After all, Roger had given him the gift as a means to inspire him to create his own. The Lexicron warbot had also been kind enough to include a small letter within the box. Arthur picked it open and began to read.It was nice meeting you, Arthur Ward, at least it was if you're reading this letter. Enclosed in this box is a replica of a Lexicron warbot's right arm, the standardised one we all began with before we all started adding our personal enhancements.As far as I’m aware, it’s universally ranked second as the greatest replacement limb for automatons and fifth for biological lifeforms. You’d be hard-pressed to find anything better without talking to a mythical-ranked Synth Smith. I think that’s enough self-praise, though if you’re still uncertain, a few minutes of research will prove the veracity of my words.Arthur did just that. It took him two minutes to realise Roger had been underselling the prosthetic, if anything, though he also realised that much of what made it so incredible (...)